Welcome to My World. Miranda Dickinson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sightseeing and arrived at the match venue in Fulham, only to lose magnificently – but at least Freddie was able to revel in the delights of the city he had dreamed about since childhood.

      Unusually for a Wednesday at Sun Lovers International Travel, business had been brisk. Tom, Harri and new girl, Nusrin, barely had time to pause for breath between each new customer, exchanging incredulous glances as they passed one another carrying brochures or escorting customers to their desks. The reason for this unexpected influx of custom remained a mystery until the late entrance of SLIT’s owner, George Duffield, just before midday.

      ‘Ah, the unmistakable power of advertising,’ he boomed, his thick Wolverhampton accent bouncing off the shabby travel-poster-covered walls. ‘It’s amazing what a little bit of local advertising can do for a reputable business like SLIT, you know. Best twenty-five quid I’ve spent this year.’

      His mystified staff rewarded his enthusiasm with a selection of blank expressions.

      ‘You paid people to come into the shop?’ Tom ventured. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas. A successful local business like SLIT doesn’t need to resort to bribery – and I resent the very implication, actually. No, I placed two hundred and fifty offer leaflets in the Edgevale Gazette yesterday. Twenty per cent off any booking made this week.’

      ‘You put leaflets in the free paper?’ Nusrin asked.

      ‘The very same,’ George grinned, his shiny, red head blushing with pleasure. ‘Genius, eh?’

      ‘I didn’t think anyone read the Gazette,’ Harri said. ‘Mine goes straight into the recycling box.’

      ‘Well, apparently there are people in Stone Yardley who don’t follow your woeful example, Harriet,’ retorted George, sailing into his office. ‘I think the hustle and bustle of this travel agency speaks for itself, don’t you?’

      As he shut the door, Tom chuckled. ‘Shame nobody actually booked anything today then, isn’t it?’

      ‘Apart from the Wilkinsons booking their annual coach trip to Rhyl,’ Nusrin replied.

      ‘But we’ve done a brisk trade in brochures,’ Harri smiled.

      Half an hour later, the impressive flow of browsing customers had all but vanished, allowing Harri, Tom and Nusrin to grab a well-earned lunch break. Nusrin had seized the opportunity to vacate the premises, ever-present mobile in hand and packet of cigarettes hastily shoved in her coat pocket, leaving Tom and Harri to eat their lunch in relative peace. And for Harri finally to read the letter. Trying to read its contents, Tom nodded knowingly. ‘Top secret communications, eh?’

      ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, folding the letter defensively to hide its contents from her prying colleague.

      ‘Not judging by your face it isn’t.’

      ‘Seriously, Tom, it’s nothing.’

      ‘Liar.’

      ‘Am not!’

      ‘So if it’s nothing you can tell me what it’s about then, can’t you?’ Tom smirked, mayonnaise glistening on his chin as he pointed his half-devoured sub roll at Harri. ‘Ha – get out of that one!’

      Harri let out a sigh of resignation. ‘It’s something I’m doing for a friend.’

      His eyebrows shot up as he lowered his voice. ‘Mafia?’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘They’ve hired you as a hitwoman and the letter is details of your mark.’

      ‘You watch far too many gangster films,’ Harri laughed.

      ‘My Uncle Jez says the Mafia has a base in Birmingham,’ Tom retorted. ‘It’s common knowledge.’

      ‘Oh, and your Uncle Jez is such a trusted authority on that kind of information, isn’t he? I mean, wasn’t it Uncle Jez who was convinced that the Ku Klux Klan were holding secret meetings in Ellingsgate last summer?’

      Tom looked away. ‘He saw them meeting in that field.’

      ‘Hmm, yes, and when he called the police, what did they find?’

      Tom’s greasy cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘Beekeepers,’ he muttered. ‘Exactly. Ellingsgate Beekeeping Society. So I don’t think we need to listen to your Uncle Jez, do we?’

      ‘So what is it you’re doing for a friend, then?’ Tom shot back grumpily.

      Harri grimaced. ‘Something he might not thank me for.’

      ‘OK – interests. Um, travel, photography, dining out, cinema . . . Anything I’ve forgotten?’

      ‘Bugging people. Alex is particularly interested in that,’ Stella replied, emptying two sachets of sugar into her takeaway coffee cup.

      Harri looked up from the form spread before her on the weathered wooden picnic table at which they both sat. ‘Be serious, Stel.’

      Stella picked up the flimsy plastic stirrer and stirred her coffee with intense irritation. ‘I’m deadly serious. This is a bad idea. Alex is going to kill you,’ she added for the umpteenth time since Harri had first mentioned Viv’s Big Idea. This had become her mantra, destined to accompany every conversation.

      ‘You’re not helping, Stel.’

      ‘I wasn’t trying to. Can we talk about something else, please?’ Harri groaned and shoved the form back into her rucksack. ‘Fine. I’ll finish it later, when I won’t annoy anyone.’ She looked out across the country park at families enjoying the unseasonably mild March Saturday. Vale Edge Park was one of her favourite local places – a large area of woodland around a high sandstone hill about twenty minutes’ drive from Stone Yardley. Here she had spent most Sunday afternoons with her parents during childhood summers, riding bikes, having picnics and playing games. It was a popular destination for families, mountain bikers and dog-walkers, its trails offering something for everyone. Many of her first dates had taken place here; shyly holding hands by the lake or stealing kisses along the woodland paths through carpets of bluebells and bracken. In the early days, this had been the scene of countless laughter-filled walks with Rob, Harri pointing out wildflowers or birds and Rob identifying them with that confident, completely gorgeous smile of his.

      In their more adventurous moments, Stella and Harri ventured here to walk up onto Vale Edge, before returning to the welcome retreat of the tiny log cabin that served as a refreshment kiosk. This afternoon, however, any thoughts of such exertions had been banished by Stella’s ‘urgent cake and caffeine craving’.

      ‘This chocolate cake is a-mazing, H. Are you sure you don’t want to try some?’

      ‘I wouldn’t dream of parting you from it,’ Harri replied, popping a piece of buttery flapjack into her mouth.

      ‘You know, I hoped you were going to say that.’

      ‘I thought as much.’ They exchanged smiles. ‘Look, Stel, I know this magazine column is a daft idea, but it might just work. Stranger things have happened.’

      ‘You honestly think СКАЧАТЬ